


A Little Romance, Brian Kinney Style

by Severina



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Community: 25fluffyfics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-24
Updated: 2008-09-24
Packaged: 2017-10-10 12:25:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Brian," Justin says slowly, "please tell me there's not an underwear model wearing a big red bow up there."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Romance, Brian Kinney Style

**Author's Note:**

> Post Season Five  
> Written for LJ's 25FluffyFics community  
> Prompt 06: Candles

**Thursday, 9:58pm**

They sit anxiously in the waiting room, stealing glances every few minutes at the door. Thus far, the doctor hasn't reappeared.

"This is all your fault," Brian snaps into the silence.

Justin's eyes grow wide. "My fault? How the fuck is this _my_ fault?"

"You're the one who set up the picnic on the floor of the loft with the wine and cheese. Because you thought it would be _romantic_," Brian snarls.

"That picnic," Justin boggles, "was seven years ago!"

"Still," Brian says. "Kinneys never forget!"

* * *

**Two hours earlier…**

Brian glances around the room, making sure everything is in its place. The wine is chilling. The dinner -- catered from Maxims, Pittsburgh's most exclusive restaurant -- is due to arrive in two hours. He's already given Albert the key to the back door and instructions on where to set the table. Brian knows that he and Justin will be occupied with other things before dinner.

He reaches out to correct the height of one of the red gardenias in the bouquet, adjusting it one-eighth of an inch, then stands back to admire his handiwork.

The present lies prominently displayed on the desk. The salesclerk at La Chinois did a wonderful job on the wrapping.

He turns in a slow circle, a critical eye going over the place one last time. He tells himself not to be nervous. It's the first time he's done something like this -- something that he swore he would never do, something 'romantic' -- and he wants it to be perfect.

He hears the front door slam shut. Right on time.

"Brian?" Justin calls. "You home?"

"In here," he yells back.

"I had a for shit day," Justin grumbles as soon as he reaches the study. "Motherfucker Frank Ippolito, you remember him? Tells me he knows exactly what he wants, right? Then he shows up today--"

"Justin."

"--and fucking bitches about the piece! Says it's too fucking morose! Bastard doesn't know--"

"Justin!"

Justin blinks. "What?"

Brian presses his lips together. Rocks on his heels. Watches Justin from beneath lowered lashes and waits.

Justin's eyes go wide as he finally takes in his surroundings. Then he cocks his head and squints, looking at Brian suspiciously. "What's all this?" he asks slowly.

"What does it look like?" Brian answers.

Justin crosses to the table, leans down to sniff at the flowers. His hand trails over the bright yellow bow on the gift. "It looks like… something for me?"

"Got it in one, Sunshine."

"Okaaay," Justin says. "Why?"

Brian blinks and does his best to look innocent,, a not very convincing job under the best of circumstances. "You don't know why?"

"Brian."

Brian sighs. "And people say you're the romantic one," he says. "It's our anniversary."

Justin makes a face. "Brian, we got married in September."

"Not that anniversary."

"Okay." Justin presses his lips together. "The first time we fucked was also in September," he says. His eyes sparkle. "It was a school night."

"Not that either," Brian sighs. When Justin still looks stumped, he gives in. "It's the anniversary of the first time--"

"I love you!" Justin says suddenly. "On this night five years ago, I was covered in soot and ash, and you found me, and you put your arms around me, and you told me you loved me for the first time."

"But not the last," Brian says.

Justin crosses the room to throw his arms around Brian's waist. "I can't believe you remembered."

"Kinneys never forget," Brian says.

"And did all this." Justin reaches up and kisses him, then wheels away, beaming. "I'm going to open the present."

"You might want to save that until after."

"After what?"

"There's more," Brian says.

Justin raises a brow.

"Upstairs," Brian tells him. "Just let me do something in the bedroom, and you can come in in two minutes."

"Brian," Justin says slowly, "please tell me there's not an underwear model wearing a big red bow up there."

"Kinneys also learn from their mistakes," Brian says. He walks backward out of the room, beckoning Justin to follow, then takes the steps two at a time. "Wait on the landing," he instructs.

Justin watches, grinning expectantly, as Brian disappears into the bedroom.

Then-- "Oh fuck!"

"Brian?"

"Fuck!"

Ignoring his instructions, Justin dashes into the bedroom.

Brian stands amid a disaster zone. The duvet is on the floor in a tangled heap. The lampshade is crooked. And the remains of what used to be candles -- at least a dozen of them, in shades of green and red and white -- are scattered around the floor, each and every one mangled and half-eaten. Little puppy teeth marks mar the surface of each candle -- the surface of what little is left of each candle.

Brian stands up from where he's been crouched beside the dog. His face is grim.

"Georgie?" Justin says weakly.

The dog wags her tail feebly. Her mouth is covered in foam.

"We've got to get her to the vet," Brian says.

* * *

**Thursday, 10:12pm**

Brian and Justin look up quickly when the door opens. They get to their feet when Doctor McIntosh strides out, leading Georgie on her leash.

"How is she?" Justin asks apprehensively.

"She'll be just fine," the vet assures him. At his side, Georgie wags her tail with considerably more enthusiasm than she had an hour ago.

Justin breathes a little easier. "Thank God."

"She'll void the candle wax during her regular constitutional," the vet says.

Brian reaches out to shake the man's hand as Justin takes the leash. "Thanks for opening late for us," he says.

Dr. McIntosh smiles easily. "Not a problem, Brian. But may I suggest that next time, you use unscented candles. And if you have to use the mint and raspberry, keep them up higher than dog level. Georgie is apparently a big fan."

* * *

Justin holds the puppy on his knee during the ride home, petting her softly and making soothing noises. Within a few minutes, Georgie's eyes start to droop. In five, she's sound asleep.

Ten minutes later, Brian sneaks a glance at Justin. He's got his cheek resting against the window and his eyes closed.

"I guess," Brian says, "it wasn't your fault."

"You think?"

Brian stares out the windshield.

"At least Georgie's all right," Justin says a few minutes later.

"Stupid fucking dog! What kind of dog eats fucking candle wax?"

"Keep your voice down! You're going to wake her!"

Brian rolls his eyes but keeps the remainder of his opinions to himself.

When they pull into the driveway at Britin, Justin rouses the dog gently and they make their way inside. He lets her off her lead as soon as they get in the door, and Georgie runs happily to her doggie bed in the living room and settles in.

Justin sniffs the air. "What's that smell?"

"Maxims," Brian tells him listlessly. They walk slowly to the dining room, where the table has been set and the extravagant gourmet dishes have been laid out. The aroma is tantalizing. Steam still rises from the dishes, Brian sees. Albert must have just left.

"You had Maxims cater a meal for us?" Justin says wonderingly.

Brian lifts a shoulder.

Justin leans against him, bumping his shoulder lightly. "It was a nice gesture," he says. "All of it."

Brian bumps him back. "I wanted to show you that… that I still feel the same way as I did five years ago."

Justin smiles. I Love You's are still difficult for Brian.

"Got it," Justin says. "But Brian? I think maybe you should limit your grand romantic gestures to once every five years or so."


End file.
